


On Murder and Mystery

by stringingwords



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, Clexa, Clexa Week 2017, F/F, Modern AU, One Shot, mostly banter, stuck together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 16:37:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10032563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stringingwords/pseuds/stringingwords
Summary: While waitressing at a posh lawyer party, Clarke gets trapped on the roof with a mysterious girl who prefers secrets to names.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another contribution to Clexa week. A more reasonably-sized one shot and my first stab at a modern AU. The name is most certainly misleading as there is no murder and only mildly-intriguing mysteries.
> 
> Unbetad and barely edited but it's all fun right. ;)

Clarke pants, sprinting up the last flight of stairs and pushing through the roof door. She jumps a moment later when it slams, nearly sending her tray clattering to the floor, along with the bottle of champagne that probably cost more than her monthly income. She places it carefully on the ledge, steadying herself with wheezing breaths. Ok so maybe she isn't as fit as she thought.

The city is beautiful from here, grime hidden in the darkness, hundreds of lights flickering in the skyscrapers. Are all those rooms occupied? Are the lights left on merely for show? How are those people spending their evenings? More pleasantly than Clarke, she'd wager. If she has to hear another half-assed come-on from a sleazeball lawyer...The low cut shirt was obviously a mistake, but jeez, some guys need to learn to take a hint.

'Your thoughts are very loud.'

Clarke jumps again, gripping the ledge before spinning to face the direction of the words. They were spoken softly, but might as well have been yelled in the silence of the rooftop.

'Jesus! You scared the shit out of me.'

'Not my intention.’

Its owner steps from where she was leaning in the shadows. Clarke takes in her elegant frame complimented by a dark, three-piece suit. Classy. Her features are somewhat obscured in the darkness, hair is swept back in some kind of do and Clarke can see the outline of her long neck and chiseled jawline. She has an air about her too, the air of one used to being looked at, admired. Not necessarily arrogant, just aware.

'You're from the party on the 17th.'

It is an observation.

'A fugitive, more like. Do all lawyers think jabbering about their accomplishments makes up for being obnoxious, vacuous asshats?'

Clarke feels rather than sees the girl quirk her eyebrow.

‘Perhaps you simply haven’t realized that your true calling is as a pretty ornament adding value to these men’s sad existence.’

Clarke snorts at the suggestion.

‘Ugh, I don’t know how I’m gonna go back there.’

‘Well, that won’t be possible for the time being, seeing as you let the door bang closed behind you.’

Clarke freezes, turning to the woman whose face she’s beginning to see as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. 

‘You’re kidding. We’re locked up here?’

The woman nods slightly.

‘Don’t you have a phone or something?’

‘Left it in the office.’

‘Shit. It’s this big, fancy party for the new name partner. She’s supposed to be arrogant and ruthless, both in and out of court.’

Both eyebrows raise this time.

‘Is she now?’

‘That’s what they say. I swear every one of those windbags down there is equal parts envious and scared shitless of her.’

The woman laughs, a genuine, melodious peal that makes Clarke smile. It feels kind of amazing to be the cause of that. 

‘I hear she’s beautiful though, like the drop-dead, sculpted by the goddess gorgeous.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Apparently she did some modeling to get through law school, but her true passion seems to be tearing people apart in the witness stand and trampling male egos.’

She laughs again and Clarke feels her chest expanding. 

‘You seem to have her all figured out.’

‘Do you think she kills people who disappear with her ridiculously-priced champagne?’

‘Mmh, I would say torture at the very least. But she probably has minions to take care of her dirty work. No good lawyer would allow herself to be traced back to a crime.’

‘True. Come to think of it, you might be one of her minions. And here I am trapped with you with no way of escape.’

‘Do I look like a minion?’ she asks, feigning offense. Clarke can hear the amusement in her tone.

‘Not at all, but that’s just my point. If she’s as cunning as everyone says she is she’d definitely go for a minion as well-dressed and alluring as you.’

‘Alluring, you say?’

‘Well, yes. It’s all a ploy to draw her prey in. And before they know it, they’re goners. Come to think of it, I don’t even know your name. You could be anyone.’

‘Introductions are so pedestrian, wouldn’t you say?’ She replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘Tell me something else instead. Something very few people know.’

‘Hmm, your interrogation tactics are cunning, Mrs. Smith. But I will oblige you, if only as a ruse to get you to reveal yourself in turn.’

The woman smiles, a beautiful smile that lights up her face. 

Clarke was right about her. Now that her eyes have adjusted she can see just how right. Piercing eyes, perhaps blue or green, they change depending on the light; luscious lips that purse or smirk in amusement, a jaw to rival Greek sculptures. Clarke itches for a sketchpad to immortalize her. Say what they might about Lexa Woods downstairs, she’d take this woman over her any day.

‘Very well, but first, let us drink together. If you’re going to be tortured and killed anyways, might as well enjoy your cause of death.’

‘Oh, now you want me inebriated? I see right through your tactics, Mrs. Smith.’

‘And yet, you’ll comply.’

Again it isn’t a question, and again, Clarke is too charmed to say no.

She pops the cork, noticing Clarke had no glasses with her when she came up. She passes the champagne to Clarke and motions for her to drink straight from the bottle.

‘To swigging like hoodlums.’

‘To swigging like hoodlums,’ Clarke agrees, tipping the bottle and letting the liquid pour down her throat. She nearly coughs as the bubbles sputter in her mouth.

The woman smiles again. 

‘Not just anyone can drink champagne straight from a bottle. It takes finesse.’

And to demonstrate her point, she tips and swallows without so much as a hint of discomfort. Clarke snorts.

‘Snob.’

A quirked eyebrow is all she gets in reply.

‘I believe I’m owed a secret.’

‘Owed is a rather strong word. Let me see.’ Clarke takes another sip, managing the bubbles better this time. It’s not bad. ‘Ok, so I’m terrified of fish.’

‘You’re what?’

Clarke can sense she wants to make sure she’s not being mocked before beginning her teasing onslaught.

‘I’m serious. They don’t have eyelids. They’re literally starring creepily at you all the time. Even when they sleep. Do they sleep? And they’re slimy and quick. Like, if you’re in the water with a fish what the hell are you supposed to do? They just dart around you and attack from all sides.’

‘Attack?’ Clarke can hear her struggling to keep the laughter from her voice. ‘Heard of many deaths by goldfish lately?’

‘Oh you laugh but goldfish can get really freaking big when they have space. And teeth, fish have nasty teeth. They just look at you with their glassy eyes and their mouths bobbing robotically open and shut, pretending they don’t have the teeth they need to make you bleed.’

‘Alright you’ve convinced me.’

Clarke’s eyes widen in excitement.

‘You agree with me then? You recognize that fish are the true monsters of this planet?’

‘I recognize that you do indeed have a very irrational fear of them, which I respect. I hitherto vow to protect you from any members of the phylum Chordata that would dare raise their fins against you.’

Clarke huffs at the tease, shoving the champagne bottle at her. She hoists herself onto the ledge, peering down at the city. Firm hands instantly grip her legs, nearly startling her into losing her balance.

‘I hardly think a fear of fish is worth dying for.’

Clarke rolls her eyes at her reaction.

‘I wasn’t going to fall. I used live on the top floor of an old building. This one actually has a decent ledge. It’s child’s play.’

‘Ah, so the girl who fears fish is the daredevil of the sky.’

Clarke shrugs in response.

‘Nobody’s perfect.’

She brings the bottle to her lips again but keeps her other hand on Clarke’s leg, steading her. Clarke can feel her fingers, firm and gentle through her tights. She wants to protest that it’s unnecessary, except she likes the feel of her, the little flutter of her skin where she touches her, the way her heart beats a little faster at her nearness. She catches a whiff of her perfume, fresh yet bold, neither masculine nor feminine.

‘Ok Mrs. Smith, you’re up,’ she says, a little more breathily, willing her eyes to stay focused despite the intensity of the green ones.

‘Well,’ she responds after a moment, ‘I add numbers.’

Clarke scoffs. 

‘Doesn’t everyone? Like since first grade?’

‘I do it impulsively. Phone numbers, license plates, serial numbers. 0 and 9 are neutral, because any number you add to them will just be the same number again. So numbers that add up to 0 or 9 cancel each other out, they’re just noise. Then you see what you’re left with. That’s the value.’

Clarke is staring at her a little incredulously, not sure if she understood correctly.

‘Nerd!’

She can’t be sure in the dark, but she thinks the woman blushes. She looks away, taking the bottle from Clarke and sipping. It’s all kind of endearing.

‘What are you, some sort of genius? Now I really am worried you’re a secret henchwoman sent to kill me for stealing the champagne that you are all to eagerly drinking.’ 

‘Mmh, yes, well henchwomen are by definition shady, so does that really surprise you?’

‘I suppose not. I just thought you were different. We’ve shared saliva and secrets her.’

She’s proud to see the beautiful lips twitch upwards again.

Clarke shivers. Her shirt is thin and her knee-length shirt and tights do little to ward off the autumn winds. The woman quickly removes her suit jacket and offers it to her. Clarke wants to say no, but she looks hot enough in her shirt and vest (pun definitely intended), and she has no idea how long they’ll be up here.

It’s still warm. Clarke tries not to think it’s this woman’s warmth. But now she’s enveloped in her smell and it’s intoxicating. When Mrs. Smith moves to lean against the ledge she’s sitting on to get a better view of the city, all she can think is how she’d like to press her lips to that neck and taste her. She already misses the pressure of her fingers on her knee.

‘I love flying,’ Clarke says. ‘That feeling just when you leave the ground, the swoop in your stomach. I could fly every day just to feel that.’

‘I once spent three months in Tibet learning the local dialect and meditation techniques.’

‘By that of course you mean spy code and torture tactics.’

‘Naturally.’

'Next you'll be telling me how you're an Olympic level sharpshooter.'

'I don't like guns.'

Her tone is suddenly serious and Clarke knows better than to tease.

‘I can suture like nobody’s business.’

‘Is this your bid to join Ms. Woods gang as the sleazy doctor?’

‘Is it working?’

‘To be determined.’

Clarke likes this, the seamless exchange of random information.

‘I hate pickles,’ the woman continues.

‘Meaning vegetables in jars or…?’

‘Are you accusing me of sexual allusions?’

‘Let the record show that by avoiding the question, the plaintiff strengthens the initial assumption.’

The laugh again. Clarke feels it rippling pleasantly through her own chest.

‘It puts things into perspective, coming up here. There are so many people out there, each with their own lives and beliefs and drama and dreams. We like to think of our own as all-encompassing, but really it’s so small.’

‘Well look who’s waxing philosophical.’ 

The woman smiles weakly, takes another sip.

‘But if you think like that, doesn’t it kind of mean that nothing matters? Like why try if it’s all insignificant?’

‘It could,’ she concedes. ‘But in my view, it’s empowering. It also means that whatever holds us back doesn’t matter. Whatever worry we think will crush us today isn’t really that big. Whatever scares the hell out of us is pretty small too.’

Clarke thinks about it for a minute, then smirks.

‘Are you trying to rationalize your way around torturing me, Smith? Cause I’ll have you know I will haunt you for the rest of your days.’

She smirks. 

‘I might enjoy that.’

Clarke looks up quickly, searching her eyes. 

‘I might also just be trying to talk myself into asking you for your number.’

Clarke smiles, feels her palms get sweaty, a nervous shiver. People ask for her number all the time. But she hasn’t remember really wanting to give it in a long time. 

‘I can see why that might be scary. I mean,’ she gestures generally to the length of her. 

‘I’m glad we understand each other.’

She’s facing Clarke now, torso just a breath away from brushing her led, eyes both bold and hesitant. Clarke wants to drown in them. 

Play it cool, Griffin.

‘But if I do give you my number, how will I know who’s calling? I think I’ll need a name.’

‘It seems you’ve already given me one.’

‘Fair enough,’ she replies after a moment’s hesitation. ‘315-712-4849.

She smiles. 

‘Eight.’

‘What’s that?

‘315-712-4849. Eight is the sum.’

‘Alright, Rainman,’ Clarke laughs, shaking her head. She likes eight.

Just then the door bursts open. 

‘There you are, Clarke’ the woman scowls. ‘You left your friend serving alone. It’s been quite a mess downstairs. Don’t expect to get paid for this.’

‘It’s my fault, Indra.’

Clarke is just as surprised as Indra to hear her say it.

‘I requested champagne be brought to the roof, only the door swung shut behind me and Clarke was trapped here.’

Indra eyes the scene dubiously, no doubt taking in the jacket draped over Clarke’s shoulders and the half-empty bottle between them.

‘I didn’t expect to find you here, Ms. Woods. Titus has been looking everywhere for you, something about the ceremony to unveil the new letterhead.’

Now Clarke is in shock. Ms. Woods? Lexa Woods? Shit! She hurriedly runs through their conversation, trying to establish just how bad the things she said about her were. 

Lexa nods and moves towards the door.

‘Please see to it that Clarke is given her full pay for the evening as she is in no way responsible for her absence.’

‘Yes, Heda,’ Indra replies before reentering the building. 

Lexa follows, but turns to catch Clarke’s eye before she leaves.

‘Lexa Woods, huh?’ Clarke says.

Lexa shrugs. 

‘Like I said, pedestrian. It might have ruined a perfectly delightful evening.’

Delightful? Ok so she didn’t fuck up too bad.

‘I’ll be in touch, Eight.’

‘Later, Smith.’

Clarke realizes she’s still wearing her jacket, almost calls her back. But she doesn’t. She needs a little something to tide her over until their next encounter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> As always you can find me on tumblr at @i-like-heda


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